


Four and Twenty Blackbirds

by essene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essene/pseuds/essene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wakes up to a puzzle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four and Twenty Blackbirds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ‘Just say yes.”  @ [](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn**  

Title: Four and Twenty Blackbirds  
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Word count: 2,356  
Warnings: Do I need to warn for incest in this fandom?  
Disclaimer: Alas, if they were mine, I’d write it this way and show it every Friday.  
Summary: Sam wakes up to a puzzle.  
Notes: Written for the prompt ‘Just say yes.”@ [](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[**salt_burn_porn**](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/)    
Thank you to [](http://dancetomato.livejournal.com/profile)[**dancetomato**](http://dancetomato.livejournal.com/)    & [](http://electricalgwen.livejournal.com/profile)[**electricalgwen**](http://electricalgwen.livejournal.com/)  for their lightening fast beta work! That said, all remaining mistakes are mine.

 

 

Sam stretches, sliding his arms and legs out across the bed, knowing that at some point a hand and a foot are going to be hanging off the edge before he drags them back.  But that doesn't happen.  This morning when he stretches, his leg and arm connect with something warm and solid.  Something that sounds peevish and sleepy.  Something that sounds suspiciously like...his brother.  Sam's eyes fly open and he turns his head to the side.  Yep, that's Dean's back.  Dean's...naked back.  Next to him. In his bed.

Time seems to freeze as Sam tries to desperately figure out just what the fuck Dean is doing in his bed...Sam lifts the edge of the covers...as naked as the day he was born, next to Sam's equally naked self.

Sam moves to the edge of the bed as slowly as he can, and eases himself off the mattress while praying that it doesn't bounce back from the loss of his weight or squeal from the shift of springs.  No such luck.  The bed rebounds like a moon-jump and the ancient springs caterwaul like a tom cat.  Dean rolls over into Sam's recently vacated spot as Sam winces and tries to bolt for the bathroom before...

"Where you goin'?" Dean mumbles as he rubs a finger into his eye.

"Uh...bathroom?"  Sam doesn't intend for it to come out as a question.

Dean's rubbing the other eye now and snorts as he says, "You don't know? Jesus, help me, my brother's an idiot."

"Shut up, jerk."  Sam tries again, certainty in his voice this time, "I'm going to the bathroom."  With that he turns and walks the five or so steps to the door and darts inside.  

He slumps against the door and frantically scans his brain for any possible reason that could explain why he woke up naked in bed with his brother.  Who was also naked.

1\.  He hadn't slept naked in...well, at least since he'd rejoined Dean on their "hunting" trips.   
2\.  He only actually slept naked when he'd had sex.  (What?  He didn't really like the feeling of his junk rolling around all over the place while he slept.)   
3\.  Dean never slept naked either.   
4\.  He and Dean only ever shared a bed when it was a) a King, and b) there was no other kind of room available.

Sam clearly remembers checking into the hotel.  They'd gotten a room with two queens.  And he'd passed the empty one on the way to the bathroom.  So, why was Dean in bed with him?

Which brings up the subject of sex.  Sam starts to pay attention to his body now.  He feels...slightly dirty.  Which isn't a surprise, he sweats a lot, even while he sleeps.  He realizes that he really  does need to use the facilities, and moves towards the ancient toilet and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and freezes.   What the hell?

The reflection was the same as it always was--that was him staring back--but he DEFINITELY didn't have all those... were those SCRATCH marks? ...on his arms the last time he looked, and... oh dear God in Heaven ....

Sam swallows heavily and reaches up to his neck to touch the purplish marks that dot the skin under his jaw and down to his collar bone.  Hickeys.  He hasn't had hickeys since the night Jess got drunk, did a joint and decided that she wanted to ride him in a rocking chair, just like she'd seen Rebecca de Mornay do to Tom Cruise in  Risky Business. Until they faded three or four days later, every time she looked at him she'd blush.  Sam's heart clenches a little at the memory.

Tearing his eyes away from the mirror, Sam moves to the toilet and flips up the seat.  He grips his dick to aim and realizes that there’s more than just skin between his fingers. There’s a light tackiness to his dick, and a bit of a pull on his pubic hair as he angles his dick towards the toilet, urine hitting its mark.  The aching pressure in his groin starts to fade as it suddenly clicks into place... Oh fucking-Mary-mother-of-Christ.

He knows these sensations.  It’s all too familiar, and usually a good thing.  He’s had sex.  SEX.  He may have wiped himself off at some point but that tacky stuff coating the skin of his prick?  That’s lube, friends and neighbors.  The uneasy stretch of his pubes?  Dried jizz.  

He tries not to panic as he shakes off and reaches to turn the shower on.  He tries frantically to retrace the evening in his mind while he waits for the water to heat up. 

**********   
They’d suited up to play FBI agents in order to question the three families involved in the attacks.  Dean suspected Alps were to blame while Sam was gunning for a Bakhtak.  Same story, different spirit--children go to sleep as normal, then they wake up not so refreshed for several days in a row, and eventually die in their sleep.  The first two families were pretty coherent and specific with their recollections, tipping the balance toward Dean’s Alp-theory.  All of which only made him cockier and harder to bear as the day progressed...sly little grins, eye-brow waggles and snide remarks about what a waste all those years were at Stanford.

Sam had been betting that the third family would hold the best evidence for whatever creature it was.  They’d suffered the most recent loss, therefore would be the most likely to remember critical clues.  Unfortunately, they were still nearly inconsolable with grief, and he and Dean had been able to get little more out of the couple than a recent school-photo and a painfully detailed recollection of the boy’s last baseball game.

They’d gone to a diner afterward where Dean continued to make his case for the Alp based on the first two families’ stories, and Sam was struck, not for the first time, how Dean could be smug even when chewing.  Sam had kicked his brother several times through dinner and it only served to make Dean grin harder. It had even prompted him to bring their waitress into it.

“Hey there, Julie.  Let me ask you something.”  

The red-head raised her brows as she set down their pie, “Um, okay.”

“If you were to guess, just based on looking at the two of us,” Dean gestured between himself and Sam, “who was the smarter.  What would you say?”

Julie scanned them quickly with her wide-set brown eyes, took a couple of chews of her gum and then said, “Oh honey, I don’t really think either one of you is all that smart.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to her face. He hadn’t really paid much attention to her previously; he’d been too busy stewing about how to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off Dean’s face, and now this little waitress had gone and done it.  

“And what exactly do you mean by that,  honey ?”  Sam’s words were heavy with unspoken warning.

Julie’s eyes narrowed and something sharp glinted in them as she leaned down to whisper, “Oh, if I  tell  you, where would the fun be in that?”

With a quick snap of gum Julie spun and called out as she walked away, “Enjoy your pie now, boys!”

For the first time in hours, Dean’s face registered something other than cockiness.  Perplexed, but nothing more than that as he picked up his fork and dug into his warm piece of blueberry pie.

“What do you make of that, Sammy?”

Sam glanced over to where Julie was taking the order of a flannel-clad trucker and replied reflexively, “Don’t call me Sammy.”

He looked down at his piece of pecan pie and then over to his brother who was happily cramming forkful after forkful of indigo into his mouth.  “Maybe she’s just having a bad day.” 

Picking up his own fork, Sam was still dubious as he cut into his own slice of pie.

*********************   
He’s under the spray, standing nearly at the end of the shower so he doesn’t have to crook his neck to avoid whacking his skull on the shower head, when the curtain is jerked open and Dean--a still very naked Dean--plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back far enough to make room for himself to get into the tub.  Into the shower.  With Sam.  Naked.  In the shower  with him.

“What are you...Dean, what are...why...”  Sam doesn’t actually finish his question. Everything dies before he’s able to form it into coherent thought because his brain completely short circuits the second Dean perches on the edge of the tub, grabs Sam’s hips in his hands and directs Sam’s cock into his mouth.

It’s so warm, is Sam’s first thought...followed quickly by,  ohmygod he's GOOD at this ...when Dean’s tongue, wet and flat, runs firmly along the vein in his cock and presses Sam’s prick unrelentingly into the roof of his mouth.  Lips tucked firmly over teeth, Dean bobs and sucks until Sam is gripping his brother’s head and snapping his hips back and forth under tepid water.

Sam hazards a look down, sees Dean’s lashes wet and clumped on his cheekbones... so goddamn long for a man. ..freckles more pronounced in the stark fluorescent light of the bathroom.  Dean’s always so tough, so macho, reeking of testosterone all the time, but there are all these little tells about his true self that nature’s given him: lush lips, long lashes, delicate freckles, gemstone eyes.  

Dean’s left hand slides along his hip and down the crevice of his groin and under his ball-sack to thumb at Sam’s perineum.   How does Dean even know how to do that?  And it all comes slamming back to Sam the second he starts pulsing his release into Dean’s welcoming mouth...

...being slammed up against the door the second they’re inside the hotel room...

...ripping the shirt off of Dean’s body, pushing the tattered pieces from his shoulders, as his brother’s tongue tangles with his own...

...growling--actually mother-fucking  growling \--in disapproval when Dean moves away to toe off his boots and yank off his jeans and underwear... 

...clutching Dean’s ass and grinding his brother’s hard, naked cock against his own trapped and aching one while he sucked and nipped at the cords and muscles of Dean’s neck...

...pushing Dean back onto the bed and pulling his own clothes off before falling on his brother’s hard naked form, rutting against each other...

...letting Dean up for a brief moment and admiring the bunch and release of muscles in the yellow light of the room’s one meager lamp as Dean searches for lube...

...feeling for the first time the flutter and clench of another man’s asshole--of his BROTHER’S asshole--around his finger and the warm, silken give once that tight muscle was breached...

...losing himself in the feeling of Dean all around him, moving under him, saying his name in wrecked, broken, pleading tones...

...falling spent and panting against Dean’s broad, flat chest, feeling his brother’s heart beating so near his own...

...repeating the kissing and the sucking and the fucking until the small hours of the morning when they’d finally collapsed against each other, utterly exhausted.

Sam pulls free of Dean’s mouth, and watches as his brother looks up at him, creamy spend leaking from the corner of those plush lips, tongue darting out to catch it, throat working as he swallows.  Sam reaches down and pulls Dean up and takes that sinful mouth with his own, sweeping in to taste the bitter salt of himself on his brother’s tongue. 

Sam pulls away for a moment, resting his head against Dean’s as he says, “Perhaps that waitress had a point in us not being very smart. But we sure catch on fast.”

Dean chuckles and wraps his arms around Sam before turning them so he’s under the water.  He tips his head back and lets the shower wet him while Sam watches, somehow jealous of the water running all over Dean’s body.

“Whatever, it’s still an Alp.  And you still totally wasted your education.  Now wash my hair, bitch.”

Sam lets out a scoff of air but reaches for the mini bottle of shampoo anyway, “I’m not the one who just had a cock down my throat, jerk.”

“That’s because I don’t completely suck at sucking cock.”  Dean smirks and turns around.

Sam quirks a brow and figures Dean's freak-out is going to come.  But hell, let it.  They’ll get through it.  They always do.  For now, he responds by smacking his brother’s ass and gets down to the task at hand...making Dean come from a scalp-massage....

*******************

Sweeping the scraps of crust into the trash, and then wiping down the counter, Julie moves around the kitchen with efficiency, cleaning and putting things in their proper places.  When she’s finished, she calls the number the woman left for her.

“They were here yesterday.  Piece of blueberry.  Piece of pecan, just like you said.”

She nods at something the person on the other end of the line says and replies  “Yes, I’ve got it.  Pleasure doing business with you, Bela.”

As she leaves the kitchen, Julie places the cookbook that her grandmother gave her back on the shelf where it belongs.  Its spot had been vacant for far too long, and she was very glad that she had just said “yes” to the deal the British woman offered to return it. Julie takes one last look at it standing next to her “special” spices, smiles, and goes out to the diner floor to start the day.  

 

 


End file.
